Cé Tú Féin?
by Hrodvitnon
Summary: [Jack London-esque selkie!au; elsanna] Taken from home and her selkie skin stolen; forced into slavery, Elsa begins to lose hope of ever returning to the sea. At least, until a headstrong princess comes into her life.
1. Club and Chain

**Warnings:** We're getting all Jack London-y here, so be warned of abuse, trauma, violence, and blood. Maybe a bit of xenofiction as well, considering Elsa spends some time in the first chapter as a seal.  
 **Note:** Elsa's selkie form is based on a leopard seal. They're squishy, dorky cuties but also kinda scary as fuck, so it evens out. Also, beware of artistic license: geography as I try to make sense of locations.  
 **Disclaimer:** Frozen is owned by Disney. The lyrics at the end are from Kíla's 2000 album Lemonade  & Buns; the translation from Irish Gaelic to English is courtesy of Celtic Lyrics Corner.

* * *

 **I: Club and Chain**

" _Animals don't behave like men. If they have to fight, they fight; and if they have to kill they kill. But they don't sit down and set their wits to work to devise ways of spoiling other creatures' lives and hurting them. They have dignity and animality._ "  
—Richard Adams, _**Watership Down**_

Accustomed as she is to oceanic perils, Elsa has no concept of the dangers found on land. Not of the great predators that lope in forests and mountains nor of Men, of which few are good-hearted; nor of being bound to Men by rope or chains, and though a dying practice it is an institution that will not be fully banned for many years to come.

The selkies have become solitary beings, adapting to better defend themselves against predators and seafaring humans exploring the boreal poles. Mothers have taken to wean their pups earlier and leaving them with the most crucial of instructions: Haul out only for rest, courtship, or raising your young. Avoid ships at all cost. Be quick, be brave, be clever, be sure, be tricky, be sharp.

Survive.

And so Elsa survives in the Skagerrak, no longer a pup but still quite young. She has never seen Men except from a great distance, and to them she might be perceived as an unusually large gray seal for her age. Her seal form on its own is incongruous with the local pinniped, the skin she'd inherited from her late father bearing a silvery gray back and pale underbelly, whitish lower jaw and throat, fur decorated with black spots. This, in addition to her bright blue eyes, makes all the more reason to keep out of human sight.

Elsa very rarely hauls out and when she does it's only to blend in with a barking crowd of grays when ships draw too near or to escape a hungry shark. Caution is a way of life, and a single mistake may cost her that life. Not once has she ever stopped to question why selkies avoid land like the plague, for her mother has never given an explanation.

This may be the root from which everything has gone the way it has.

On this particular day she'd been scouting on the coast of the Southern Isles, a seven-island nation independent of Denmark, resting far from Norway's fjord kingdom Arendelle and locked in a diplomatically tenuous location. Elsa would not normally stray so far into the shallow Kattegat waters, but circumstances dictate that she avoid the herring spawning grounds at this time of year.

Here is where she blunders an attempt to catch a salmon. By chance she peeks above the water for air and spies a large black and white shape breaching the surface. All at once Elsa is gripped by the ancient, hereditary mind-numbing fear that forced primordial Men to flee at the sight of glinting eyes and white teeth in the dark. Orcas— great and terrible black sea-wolves— are the reason she ventures into unfamiliar territory to begin with; surely they haven't been hunting her specifically?

Of all their natural predators selkies fear the orca more than anything. They fear the uncanny intelligence, the synchronization with which they hunt, how even the dreaded sharks and gargantuan baleen whales are at their cunning mercy. Even if she were to remove her seal skin and take on human shape it would still mean certain death. No selkie or true seal is safe, for the orca hunts them both without distinction.

 _Haul out_ , she thinks. _Go where they can't follow._

She dives under and in her peripheral just catches two more orcas joining the one. Elsa launches herself in a panic, pumping and straining her muscles to build speed. The three orcas rapidly close in on their prey; Elsa recalls the lessons taught to her before separating from her Orkney-born mother and knows how the grampus like to hunt.

A small niggling part of her wonders if it'd be worse for the orca to ram her, crushing bones and rupturing her insides through sheer force of weight and speed, or for them to breach the surface and slam their great bulk down upon her.

Suddenly something comes up from beneath and catapults Elsa out of the water. Blood dances frenziedly in her veins as she twists around catlike in midair, just barely dodging one orca's gaping maw and fumbling on its snout. Before she can react the great black hunter maneuvers itself to roll her onto its tailfin and snapping smartly, launching her back into the water.

Now with racing pulse and thundering heart she uses the momentum of the orca's tail-slap to plunge farther ahead. In desperation Elsa tears through the water and towards the shoreline, not hearing so much as _feeling_ the orcas clicking just a leap behind her.

* * *

On the beach, two brothers look towards the water hearing a piercing yelp and watch the orcas in their hunt, almost toying with a seal. Two of the orcas break off from the chase while the third surges onward, racing closer and closer to land.

The fright-mad seal scrambles onto the sand and rushes farther inland as fast as its fins can manage, orca shooting in to beach itself as a last-ditch effort to catch its prey. The great behemoth slides to a halt, nose bumping into the spotted seal and sending it into another wave of terror.

While the orca shuffles and pushes itself back into the water, the brothers can only watch gobsmacked as the most incredible thing happens: The silver seal goes from an awkward shuffle-run to a full gallop and— God in Heaven!— _rises on two legs_. It's almost instantaneous. First a creature on four legs, then it looks as if the seal's body just sort of melts or deflates into something like a fur cloak.

The brother with rugged sideburns makes a dumbfounded squawk when the seal head is thrown back like a hood, revealing a fair-skinned girl of about fifteen years. She collapses onto the sand, exhausted and sobbing for breath, never once noticing the brutish men watching her. The brothers exchange a look; they may be ignorant of ocean creatures, but they know someone who does, and may be able to profit from this find.

The helpless girl slowly catches her breath and tries to calm the heart pounding against her ribcage, so loudly she doesn't catch the rapidly approaching shift of sand until a boot comes into sight. Just then she receives a shock, a blow that knocks her prone and leaves a coppery taste. Her vision goes black and for a time she knows no more.

* * *

When Elsa regains consciousness she is dimly aware of a throbbing in her cheek and an odd sense of elevation. She hears two gruff voices speaking indistinctly and followed by a third, this one a considerably softer alto. She doesn't recognize their accents. Opening her eyes, vision partly obscured by her hood, she sees the backs of a Man's legs from where she's lying over his shoulder, and with it comes a violent resurgence of fear.

 _Men. Haul-out to escape. Men found me. Hurt. Not safe here. Must run, return to sea, get out, doesn't matter how must survive GET OUT OF HERE GET OUT_ _ **RUN**_

The Men are given a terrible start when the girl makes a sound that's somewhere between a human scream and an animalistic howl, the brother holding on to her struggling to maintain balance when the girl snakes her body around his shoulders and suddenly finds himself face-to-face with that silver seal. The creature opens its jaws, large enough to bite down on his head, and roars furiously.

The Man buckles under the seal's superior weight and here Elsa strikes, lunging at his brother and locks her powerful jaws on the junction between neck and shoulder, tasting human blood for the first time. Ripping and tearing at what she can reach, Elsa doesn't relax her hold on him until she receives another shock— a heavy blunt strike to the side of her face— and she releases the man with a pained yelp.

Shifting back to human shape Elsa scrambles to run. At that moment a mighty grip catches the tail end of her fur coat and pulls, almost throwing her backwards and she is captured again. The brother she hadn't mauled clamps his burly arm around her neck, intending to choke the life out of Elsa and bellows hateful curses in her ear. All the while Elsa struggles, kicking and clawing and biting at what she can reach.

The second Man stands before them, face bloody and lacerated as though he'd been gored by a bear, and brandishes a knife. Seeing the glinting blade Elsa freezes in horror. He presses the blade against her left cheek and pushes just enough to draw blood, delighting in her hisses and whimpers.

"You done it now you mad sea-devil," he rumbles, accent harsh and guttural.

Just then a third human enters the fray, this one much smaller in stature and likely owner of the third voice she'd heard only moments before. A woman. She is older and curvaceous with a head of thick, curly black hair framing a lovely but sharp face. The woman stands between the brothers with authority, hand grabbing the bloodied brother's arm and pulling it away.

"Now, now, boys," she says in a remarkably nonchalant tone for the situation. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here."

She gestures to the brother holding on to Elsa and he releases her with an irritable grunt. Elsa, coughing and gasping, reflexively grips her selkie skin and suspiciously eyes the woman, who walks over and takes Elsa's chin in her hand. Though the woman's face appears reassuring her gray eyes are cold and filled with dark promises. A sickening knot forms in Elsa's stomach and for a horrifying moment she almost wishes she'd still be chased down by the orcas.

"There's no reason we can't be civilized," the woman purrs. "Can you understand me?"

Elsa squints. " _Ja_ — yes," she blurts awkwardly. Her accent may sound strange, mostly Nordic with faint hints of Gaelic.

"Are you going to attack again?"

A pause. Elsa glances at the Men, who discard their arms after a look from the woman.

" _Ní hea_ ," Elsa answers. "No."

"Good. Tell me your name, dear girl, and I'll give you mine."

Elsa watches the woman and sizes her up. Though not as physically imposing as the brothers she seems to be the equivalent of their group's alpha. No matter what she does next, her inexperience with the land leaves her at a vast disadvantage.

So she caves and growls, "Elsa."

"You got a last name to go with it, Elsa dear?"

"Of Skagerrak. Firstborn to Ingrid of Orkney."

The woman shrugs exaggeratedly. "It'll do, I suppose. And you may call me Mother Gothel, Elsa of Skagerrak. And these two gentlemen—" Gothel nods towards the Men, "—are the Stabbington brothers."

Elsa stares disdainfully at the twins, a low rumble vibrating in her throat.

"Oh, dear girl," Gothel coos as though to a small child, "I know you don't like them, but you _did_ make quite a mess of my poor boy." Her thumb strays to Elsa's cut cheek and presses down hard. "He's likely going to lose that eye you slashed, and people will start asking what manner of beast brutalized him like that. Wonder if they should take up arms and hunt it down. The Southern Isles are a troubling place to be these days, you know."

The knot in Elsa's stomach tightens and she holds her breath. Now Gothel's gray nail digs into the wound, painting itself crimson. Elsa winces, reflexively curling her lips back; even in human shape her prominent canines show through, stained with blood. Gothel gasps in mock-horror.

"And there's the villain, they'll say!" Gothel's voice lowers dangerously. "It takes a comely form to feign innocence! Hide the children, its wicked fangs are at their throats!"

Is that right? Have Men become so fearful of marine creatures since so many retreated deeper into the seas? Images swirl in her mind of men boarding ships with net and harpoon, sailing out to hunt her kind. The thought makes her insides lurch with equal parts fear and anger.

"Please stop," Elsa whimpers when Gothel's nail digs harder and deeper. Her eyes water and burn.

"Hmm? Do speak up, dear, I can't stand when people mumble." Gothel leans in and turns her head, tapping her ear expectantly.

"Please stop, Mother Gothel."

"Aww. Does it hurt, my darling?"

The haughty, mocking sneer drives a spike of anger through the mixed signals swimming in Elsa's head. She scowls through pain-wet eyes, ready to destroy the taunting hand if it remains any longer.

But the brothers' presence checks her fury and instead she growls, "Yes."

Gothel smiles, all teeth and no warmth. She releases her hold and Elsa's hand shoots to her cheek, warm and wet and sticky with blood.

"Good girl," Gothel chirps. "But that's just an ordinary pain compared to what others will do to you. Why, if the world learned that selkies are real and still around, cruel men would take advantage of it." She offers a hand to the pale selkie. "So for your own protection, dear, I'll take you into my care for a short while."

"No," Elsa snaps, ignoring the hand and turning away. "I'm leaving."

"The hell you are," says the sideburned Man and he hefts a club into his meaty hands— the same club he'd used to knock her off his brother.

"I'm afraid he's right," Gothel frowns. "Do you even know your way back to the ocean?"

Elsa pauses. She hadn't thought of that. In fact, she doesn't even know where she is in relation to the beach.

Gothel continues, "What's more, I hear you came ashore escaping the killer whales. Won't they still be there, waiting for the snack that got away?"

True. Elsa may barely tolerate these humans, but she can't deny the sense in Gothel's words. And despite the vehement warnings left by her mother she is woefully ignorant on the ways of Men. Who should she believe, a mother who herself had little if any human contact, or an actual human? Perhaps against her better judgment, Elsa decides to place her trust in someone whose wisdom and experience surpasses hers.

— _a single mistake may cost her that life—_

Gothel's hand is still patiently outstretched and Elsa slowly reaches for it while still maintaining a comfortable distance, but hesitates at the last instant, second-guessing herself. She's startled when the snake-like woman snatches her wrist.

"It's a hand, not a shark," Gothel sneers.

* * *

Their destination is a post on the northeast island, helmed by a Man by the name Hans Westergaard— the unlucky thirteenth son, Mother Gothel dramatically bemoans. Elsa however is more interested in the landscape. From what little she has gleaned the Southern Isles are in a terrible way indeed; over-farmed, towns living under a near-perpetual cloud of dust, and tired and dead-eyed humans going about their business, all under a bleak gray sky.

She's never seen a place so… _diseased_.

She now wears rough human garb several sizes too large under the fur cloak so as to better blend in, or so Gothel tells her. The idea is that until the orcas disperse Elsa will be staying with this Thirteenth Prince, who supposedly "requires an extra pair of hands and a strong back for work". She has no clue what human work is like, but prides herself on being a quick study.

They arrive at an ivy-grown manor in noticeably better condition than the buildings surrounding it, servants toiling as though an invisible weight rests on their shoulders. Many of them look like they haven't had much food or rest in a long time. Elsa thinks, no wonder they dragged me into this. They meet a scrawny, well-dressed man at the door and Gothel exchanges words with him. Immediately he rushes inside to fetch his master, who steps out to greet them moments later.

Hans appears to be only a few years Elsa's senior and he has a pleasant face (though his sideburns remind her too much of the Stabbington brothers); in fact his impeccable attire stands out blaringly and almost hilariously in the dark landscape, from the decrepit stable roofs to the crumbling stone gate.

Still, there's something about his eyes that doesn't sit well with Elsa. Maybe it's based on her limited knowledge of human affairs. Whatever the case, she stays on guard. She does not know this Man and so will not enter this temporary partnership appearing soft.

— _caution is a way of life—_

Hans regards the Stabbington brothers with surprise, particularly the one now bloody rags and bandages in place of stitches. Gothel speaks with him quietly and nods once in Elsa's direction, no doubt explaining her as the cause for the mauling. Elsa feels herself bristle when Hans looks her over, glances from the fur to her face and back again. She clenches her jaw when she catches a certain gleam in his eye.

"So it's true what Madame Gothel says?" Hans inquires, and the subtle change in his tone makes the fine hairs on Elsa's neck stand on end. "You… really are a selkie? Truly?"

She has to bite back the urge to retort, ' _Are you blind or stupid?_ ' though it certainly shows on her face. Then when he has the gall to ask if he can see it up close Elsa's body language tenses in preparation to flee back into the sea, orcas be damned.

Perhaps only the most materialistic of Men will understand Elsa's shortness of temper, but even then only to a degree. Unlike the southern merfolk who are restricted to a single hybrid form, selkies are equal parts both human and animal. The seal skin is an inseparable piece of them on a near spiritual level. Selkies who are taken in as wives by fishermen may go into their new lives willingly, but as their husbands hide away the skins to keep their brides close, the selkie wives will come to ache for the sea; the emptiness that grows in their hearts will drive them to longingly watch the waves, wishing more than anything to return to their true home. The closest analogy would be a hunger, one that food or drink never satisfies.

The selkie cannot— _must not_ — be locked away from freedom, nor can they be separated from their seal skin too long. The sea and the fur cloak that gives them their seal form _completes_ the selkie in such a way that words become meaningless.

"Let's make one thing clear," says Hans coolly. "As of today that marvelous specimen belongs to me. Ergo, based on what the old stories say…" He grins, but she only sees teeth in the dark. "I own you."

Something snaps deep inside of Elsa.

 _Should have known should have seen it from the start how could you be so blind so foolish you saw it in their eyes never should have hauled out_ _ **never should have come here**_

The twins wrestle her to stand still while Gothel unclasps the seal skin from around Elsa's collar. This is the breaking point. Far worse than being struck by a club, this performance, this violation of Elsa's very being, changes what could be a mere fit of violence into something else entirely.

The selkies, for all their appearance of benevolence, are not without wrath. So great is the surge in fury and fear that in an instant Elsa metamorphoses from a fair young girl to a raging fiend, with hair bristling and mouth foaming, and anger-madness in her eyes. Even without her beloved seal skin she has become more animal than human— a veritable _ríastrad_ in the flesh. Elsa thrashes against the brothers like a thing possessed, the berserker-like ferocity taking all present by surprise.

One of the brothers instinctively swings his club at the frothing thing, a knee-jerk reaction that may have saved some lives. He all but throws his entire weight into each strike, each more savage and frantic than the last. By now the servants have scattered, watching the terrible spectacle from afar.

"Chain her to the post," Hans orders upon breaking from his fascinated stupor; a final downward blow sends Elsa crashing onto the hard cobblestones and knocked senseless.

Gothel delivers the folded cloak to Hans, who runs a hand through the fur while the Stabbington brothers drag Elsa to a whipping post. Chains clatter deafeningly as Elsa's wrists are bound by cold iron shackles, and the tearing on the back of her oversized shirt echoes in her ears. She grimaces when her bruised and battered back is exposed to the cold air.

Just then a whistling crack shatters the brief silence and Elsa shrieks banshee-like when roped knotted claws lash her beaten skin. She has never felt the crack of a whip, much less the cat o' nine tails gripped in Hans' well-practiced hand, and her nerve endings flare white hot in agony. Hans begins to count, snapping the seven-tailed instrument masterfully and receiving anguished howls.

By the tenth lash Elsa has screamed herself hoarse and takes to biting her lips so as to muffle the cries. At fifteen her palms are stinging with sweat and blood from where her fingernails have punctured the skin, and she has come close to biting straight through her lower lip. Elsa tenses her muscles in anticipation of another lash, but receives none. She sobs in relief.

"Elsa of Skagerrak and firstborn to Ingrid of Orkney," Hans soliloquizes as he tucks the cat o' nine tails into the crook of his left arm beside the fur cloak. He audaciously pats the blood-soaked back he'd just so ruthlessly whipped, eliciting a voiceless whimper.

Elsa turns her head enough to look brokenly at her beloved selkie skin— _her father's_ fur, _**HER**_ fur— in this villain's grasp.

"Now that we've had our fun," Hans continues, dropping the false charm for a tone of toxic egotism, "Let this be a reminder and a lesson well learned: You are now my property. You are my thing to treat as I please. You've learned your place and I know mine. Obey your orders and you may live under my generous rule. But if you keep acting the mad sea-devil you are, you will die alone and forgotten with your corpse thrown into the sea to be eaten by sharks."

 _Sharks?_ Elsa thinks, giving a hollow laugh that sounds more like a cough. _Sharks would be a godsend._ Even the orcas she'd lived in fear of would be infinitely kinder. The shark and orca aren't so different from her, Elsa realizes, for they hunt and kill only to satisfy their clamoring stomachs. Not like Men.

Elsa watches Hans' ugly sneer and sees how it contorts his once pleasant face to match the hideous cruelty in his eyes. Never before has she experienced hatred but now it comes to her as easily as breathing. So easily it frightens her, how it simmers in her heart and slowly warms the blood until such a time comes when it will boil over and scald her insides.

Hans declares that she will be sleeping in the stables with the horses. Elsa is released from her iron shackles and forced to her feet by a shaking servant still cowering from her earlier madness. The thirteenth son, satisfied with himself, returns to the safety of his manor. One last time Elsa snarls wolfishly at his back. Yes, Elsa will come to hate the prince with a bitter and deathless hatred. The poor servant meekly begs Elsa to comply, fearing the wrath of her master, and escorts her to the stables.

Though falling apart, the once-magnificent stables are still in better condition than what Elsa assumes are proper living quarters. The servant leads her deeper in, the horses curiously peering at the unexpected guest limping after.

"Um, here," the servant girl haphazardly creates a makeshift bed from a bale of hay gestures. She fidgets, anxious to leave in fear of this stranger. "Do you, uh, need a doctor…?

" _Gå vekk_ ," Elsa rasps and the servant rushes out. Her legs give out and she collapses into the hay, groaning in pain.

 _So that's the way it is, eh?_ The deracinated selkie curls into a ball, trying to ignore the stinging sensation when a stalk of hay brushes her wounds. _So be it, then._ Elsa will learn everything she can to get by in this foreign, hostile environment. Learn and observe, and wait. Humans may speak of the patience of Saints, but far older and greater is the patience of wild things. Hans will have to let his guard down sooner or later, and when he does, she'll be ready to take back what's hers.

— _be quick, be brave, be clever, be sure, be tricky, be sharp_ —

Survive.

…at least, that's what she'd tell herself for five years.

* * *

 _Cé tú féin, a strainséar chaoin? (Who are you, kind stranger?)_  
 _Cé tú féin? (Who are you?)_  
 _An lách no dian (Are you gentle or aggressive)_  
 _Do bhuille thréan? (Since your traumatic ordeal?)_  
 _Cé tú féin? (Who are you?)_  
 _Ar tháinig tú ó i bhfad gcéin? (And did you come from far away?)_  
 _Aniar aduaidh, anoir aneas? (From west from north, from east from south?)_  
 _Ar tháinig tú ó fuacht nó teas? (Did you come from cold or from heat?)_  
 _Cé tú féin? (Who are you?)_


	2. Bright Eyes

**A/N:** Holy shit but I didn't plan to take this long to update. Sorry, so sorry! There were actually two different versions this chapter could've gone but I wanted to explore Hans' family, in particular his father, and it all just went downhill from there. Not sure I'm happy with how it flows near the end but I really needed to get this chapter feckin' _done_ already.

* * *

 **II: Bright Eyes**

" _Scars are the paler pain of survival, received unwillingly and displayed in the language of injury._ "  
—Mark Z. Danielewski, _**House**_ _ **of Leaves**_

Perhaps the greatest testament to one's ability to survive is to take the lessons one has learned and adapt them based on new surroundings.

Over the ensuing five years Elsa has taken to observing the humans around her just as she used to scan the Skagerrak's waters, watching and learning from the most obvious habits to the subtlest of tics. Who among these people are harmless, and who will pose a threat? This scrutiny does nothing to increase her popularity among the other slaves, who shrink away from her and whisper amongst each other behind Elsa's back. She never listens but always catches brief snippets—

"There, that one…"

"Always skulking like an animal…"

"…see her face that day?"

"—like a _monster_ —"

—and always it leaves her with a jolt of hurt in her chest. Physical pain is only temporary; the club may fracture bones, but bones will recover and grow stronger over time. Words, Elsa finds, are sometimes worse. With words comes the power of suggestion, and no amount of clubbing or whipping or beating will block out the words that come out to haunt one's dreams in the darkest hours of night.

Elsa knows how to manage tangible wounds, but is helpless against the intangible, internal, prolonged anguish inspired by words.

She does not understand, and she fears it.

It is all the more reason why Elsa finds a strange comradery among the noble beasts of the Southern Isles. Her ignorance regarding humans has mostly left her the designated stable boy, and while it has taken some time to adjust Elsa has grown fond of the horses (even if one of them, a yellowish stallion called Sitron, is owned by Hans).

Also Elsa had quickly befriended the local dogs that remind her of those barking gray seals she'd once mingled with to escape from predators. Her favorite is an elkhound that sleeps in the stables with her; Elsa doesn't believe in giving animals ridiculous names but the servants call him Marshmallow due to his weight and thick, light-colored coat, so that's the name he answers to. It also helps that Marshmallow detests Hans as much as Elsa does.

Every now and then Mother Gothel and the Stabbington brothers will return with a new captive to replace one who has died, whether from malnourishment or exposure to the elements or just plain worked to death (Elsa remembers one who would continue working despite suffering a fever that would drop a stronger, healthier man). Money is exchanged. The newcomers are all broken by the whip as was Elsa. Some bitterly stare daggers into Hans' back as they slave away, others reduced to simpering lickspittles if they so much as catch a whiff of their master's cologne. Once or twice someone will fight Hans' dominance to the death, and many consider them the luckiest. Those who last the longest forget what it is to be a civilized human being, and know only the law of dominance and submission as was etched into their backs.

Gothel is still friendly in her own treacherous way but knows not to test Elsa's patience; the one-eyed brother, now sporting an eyepatch and multiple ugly scars, regards Elsa hatefully and would like nothing more than to goad her into another fit so as to exact vengeance. Elsa has learned to control her temper around humans and so tolerates his jeering. At the same time however, she can't help but express a strange sense of pride in knowing it hadn't been a bear that mauled him like many people think.

In spite of all this Elsa remains vigilant and memorizes the layout of Hans' manor during the times she is allowed inside, usually in the case of work or if winter achieves such a level that the thirteenth prince can't afford fatalities in his slaves. Through observation she learns the manor staff's schedules as well as Hans', even on accident has discovered a secret room in the library, and once made a daring (if stupid) infiltration into Hans' bedchamber though she'd been caught only upon leaving the room. This last incident may have resulted in her feet streaming with blood from a thorough lashing, but it'd been worth it, for she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt where Hans keeps the seal skin.

She knows the characteristic scent of her father's fur— a smell one never forgets no matter how many years pass, the smell of home and sunlight and childish innocence and weightlessness— and she knows that small unassuming mahogany chest in the corner of Hans' chambers holds the skin stolen from her. Regardless of fear or torment or death Elsa knows in her blood and bones that one day she will take it back from that man (and may she die before she calls him Master).

Then a new opportunity arises; the royal family of Arendelle is invited to celebrate the birthday of Hans' queen mother. In actuality the invitation had been sent out as an attempt to forge political ties between the two kingdoms, as even Elsa (detached as she is) has heard vague whispers of the Prussian states further south being unified as a single power. Though the King is apathetic at best towards foreign nations, he seems to realize the economic state of his realm and would prefer the Southern Isles to remain independent rather than be assimilated— even if it means marrying one of his remaining unwed sons off to a slightly stronger kingdom.

Naturally Hans leaps at this opportunity to slither his way into Arendelle's good graces, otherwise he wouldn't bother visiting the brothers he so loathes.

 _How dare they be born before him,_ Elsa thinks dryly.

Still, if the way he runs his manor is any indication, the very concept of Hans rising to a higher position of power is a bone-chilling one, even if he remains a prince. Elsa and the other slaves can only hope Arendelle's crown princess knows better than to be fooled by a pretty face.

The fact that a pair of shoes are chucked at her face and she is told to wash up is no surprise; Hans doesn't trust anyone but himself to keep tabs on Elsa, heaven forbid he leave his favorite slave to her own devices; and it won't do for the King and Queen of Arendelle (staunch opponents against slavery) to see her as a slave as clear as the scars on her feet. So Elsa must tolerate a long carriage ride with Hans, but at least she can take solace in Marshmallow's company. Stubborn thing doesn't like Elsa out of his sight either, more out of friendship and protectiveness than malice. Hans protests at first when the white elkhound leaps into the carriage, but begrudgingly allows it when Marshmallow plops onto his pale mistress's lap and raises his hackles. For a second Elsa allows herself to sneer at Hans and scratches the dog behind his ears.

As far as Hans is aware, Elsa doesn't notice the mahogany chest amidst the luggage.

* * *

She spends much of the trip just staring out the carriage window towards the horizon. Elsa's been doing that a lot lately, staring at the horizon, so often now that she almost doesn't notice anymore. Five years is too long for her to remain on land, and the need for the sea is beginning to eat at her. Some nights she desperately tries to conjure memories and sensations of the open ocean in dreams, if only to hold on to some hope. How the sun beams penetrate through the surface, rays reflecting off the vibrant colors of schools of fish; the trills and songs of true seals under the waves; even the clicking and wailing of the orcas.

She doesn't notice when the carriage door opposite of her opens, not until Hans kicks her in the shin and barks, "Hey, wake up!"

Perhaps a year or two ago Elsa would have reacted violently to this interruption. Now she just gives him an irritated glance and yawns, stretching and cracking the kinks in her back as though she'd been asleep. Marshmallow jumps out and she follows, already being dragged off by Hans. Elsa has only been to the castle a handful of times, and the place's dark serpentine appearance from a distance always makes the fine hairs on Elsa's body bristle. She may terribly miss the sea, but there are some creatures in the deep she's glad to be far away from.

Hans is out of his element now. For the duration of their stay he is no longer master of the house— he is a spare of a prince with little to no chance of making his grandiose delusions a reality. Here he is reminded of just how much he is worth in the eyes of his family, changing him from a self-important fiend into a wounded child. Even Elsa will admit, while she undyingly hates Hans she is not much fonder of his dozen brothers, especially the twins.

(Rudi and Runo are more brutish in the treatment of their slaves and enjoy pitting them against one another in monthly fights, their owners betting money over the bloodshed. Slaves who refuse to fight are beaten senseless anyway with whatever blunt object the twins can get their mallet-sized hands on. Elsa herself has been forced into these brawls on two previous occasions and intends to avoid a third.)

The Queen, Sigrun, has equal fondness for alcohol and pretty things and frequently requests for Hans to bring Elsa with him whenever he visits; she compares her to fine china that's been handled too carelessly. This may seem like a reprieve from the usual treatment Elsa receives but the manner in which Sigrun speaks to her is better suited for a lapdog or a disinterested cat. The fact that Elsa gets more attention from her (if one can call it that) than Hans only inspires him to further abuse, more out of spite than a sense of dominance.

What's more, Elsa strongly dislikes the stench of wine wafting from her like an overpowering perfume— or like the woman literally marinates herself in the stuff. Elsa had tried a sip of wine once out of curiosity and promptly spat it back out. How in all the hells do humans stomach that bitter concoction?

Still, Elsa can't help but pity the woman; this celebration is arranged entirely around politics, and the fact that it's the Queen's birthday almost feels like an afterthought. The irony is not lost on her. At least a slave receives some form of acknowledgement (even if it is negative), but the Queen— a woman of rank who ought to be respected and saluted— may as well be a decoration.

And the King, oh sea and sky above, the King is another matter entirely.

Unlike his youngest son, King Holger is a naturally intimidating figure; a giant of a man who'd tower over the Stabbington brothers, whose voice is too deep for the whisper-like tone he reserves for public speaking. Hans, for all his self-assuredness, knows he is only a lapdog at best and an expendable pawn at worst in his father's eyes. Holger in public has all the silent strength expected of a king and proudly maintains the image of "Westergaards are lions"; but in private he is the ruinous source of cruelty and malice in the Westergaard family, and is ultimately responsible for what Hans has become.

But, by Heaven, the man is chillingly polite. It's what makes him the most terrifying creature Elsa has ever encountered, so much that her fear of him eclipses her loathing for Hans. Oh, he keeps straight to the point with clipped tones when Hans (or something else of inconvenience) comes into the picture, but on the very rare occasions he needs to set an example Holger talks with such a calm composure and borderline scientific fascination for his preferred methods of discipline that it sends a shiver up Elsa's spine. She has only ever seen his discipline once and it'd been enough to practically render her mute.

Hans takes slow and heavy breaths on their way to the Great Hall and Elsa pointedly tries to ignore his vicelike grip on her arm. He finally swallows his pride and pushes the doors open, Elsa's senses being overwhelmed by the myriad of scents flooding them, from the countless burning candles to various expensive perfumes and colognes one can smell a mile away.

Immediately King Holger, speaking with another man, turns to fix his stony gaze on the newcomers, and both Hans and Elsa tense in apprehension. The only thing they have in common is their fear of the King.

"Late, as usual!" Caleb the firstborn jibes, "Perhaps I should get you a pocket watch for your birthday?"

The corner of Hans' mouth twitches. He definitely seems smaller now and trudges along to give a meek, half-hearted greeting to his father. Elsa's just glad she doesn't see Rudi and Runo around.

"Elsa, darling, come here and let me take a look at you," Queen Sigrun calls.

Elsa slips free of Hans' grip and immediately feels lighter without the Thirteenth Prince breathing down her neck and wringing the feeling out of her wrist. Stepping up she bows her head, keeping herself at a comfortable distance. As usual the Queen cradles a wine glass, but is entertaining Caleb's pregnant wife Edith and some ladies Elsa's never seen before— Queen Idunn and Princess Anna of Arendelle.

Idunn is much younger than Hans' mother, dressed in purple with her dark brown hair styled in an intricate bun; Anna is around Elsa's age (perhaps a little younger) and covered in freckles, face framed with strawberry-blonde hair, and she watches Elsa's approach with bright teal-colored eyes.

Elsa has never seen such bright eyes in her life and despite her caution she is fascinated by how they seem to fluctuate between green and blue depending on the light.

Beautiful.

But Elsa remains on guard. She does not know this girl and so does not trust her. That is a mistake she has no intention of ever repeating.

Idunn is not royal blood— only being crowned Queen after her marriage to King Agdar— but comes from noble stock, albeit a minor one. Before marriage she'd spent much of her youth on ships and interacting with the common people, as her father had been an avid sailor and taught his girl everything she'd need to know.

Anna takes after her in some respect, but practices swordsmanship over sailing.

Anna is initially struck by Elsa's beauty, in spite of the scars, unkempt hair in a loose ponytail, and the dark circles under her eyes. Those eyes, Anna finds, possess a… _something_ that she's never seen before in a person. Without knowing why she is reminded of the noble but wary beasts in the mountains surrounding Arendelle.

Yet Elsa carries herself in a way that stirs something in Idunn's mariner-blood; her body language appears passive but the position of her shoulders and distance between her feet under the dress implies a hidden strength and readiness. Perhaps more fascinatingly, her blue eyes look over Idunn and Anna as though Elsa is sizing them up, assessing them, trying to determine if they are a potential threat.

Idunn remembers witnessing something like this a long time ago, but nods her head at Elsa before wistfulness takes hold. Elsa nods back, stiffly but satisfied.

"You've lost weight again," the Queen notices and purses her lips. "Are you still splitting meals with that pup of yours?"

Elsa just shrugs.

"She's not much of a conversationalist I'm afraid," Edith whispers. "Excellent listener, though."

"Where did you find her?" Anna asks.

"Oh, she's one Hans' servants. He never did explain it, but apparently she's from Orkney."

For a brief moment Elsa makes an unreadable expression.

Idunn mulls this over and decides to hazard a guess. Slipping into an old tongue she hasn't used in some years, she turns to Elsa and asks, " _An bhfuil Gaeilge agat?_ "

Elsa does a double take, but then her face brightens fractionally. " _Tá, beagán,_ " she replies, her voice somewhat scratchy.

Sigrun and Edith just sort of _stare_ , shocked to hear Elsa speak for the first time.

Idunn smiles. " _Tá áthas orm buaileadh leat. Cá as duit?_ "

Elsa doesn't know why but she glances towards Anna and for an instant she almost loses herself in those teal eyes. In that moment she is overcome with wistfulness and her face visibly softens. Before Sigrun can scold her for ignoring a question she looks back to Idunn and says, " _I bhfad ó bhaile._ "

Anna frowns a little. Though not as fluent as her mother she certainly knows the difference between the Celtic languages, and Elsa's pronunciations come across more like phonetic imitations rather than the easy, natural accent of a native speaker.

By now Hans and King Agdar approach, which Elsa is almost thankful for as she might be hidden in the growing crowd from Holger. Introductions are made. Immediately Hans locks onto Anna and, after a glance towards Agdar, plays up his façade of a charming prospect. Soon into the conversation he mentions that the lack of pressure to marry has given him time to engage in combat and military training, something that catches Anna's interest.

"I don't know many women educated in swordplay," Hans says. "It seems a bit unconventional for a princess to pursue, don't you think?"

"Don't underestimate the women of Arendelle, son," Agdar retorts, chest swelling with pride. "My wife's an experienced mariner and Anna can wield a sword as well as any soldier. You Westergaards may be lions, but _we_ are eagles."

"Would you be interested in some sparring then?" Hans asks Anna.

"Ooh, may I?" the princess beams, looking between her parents.

They nod their consent and Elsa is dragged behind Hans and Anna towards the armory. Upon entering Elsa groans quietly; of course the twins would be here, cooing over the various weapons like overgrown children in a toyshop. They notice the new arrivals with leers and quiet laughter, something about "little Hans bringing a girl home for once". Hans pointedly ignores them and hands Anna a sword, examining another for himself.

Rudi throws a comment at Elsa, and not even bothering to listen or look their way she shoots back with a crude jerking motion of her hand and wrist. That should keep the idiots guffawing to themselves for a while. She's more surprised by a peal of stifled giggling from Anna, watching the blonde's rebuke and biting her knuckles to keep from laughing out loud and smiles widely at her.

Elsa tilts her head and squints, trying to make sense of the expression. In her experience a smile would only hold a warning, like how humans brandish weapons or crack their knuckles. Yet try as she might she can't detect any ulterior motives behind Anna's smile. It appears… warm, and inviting.

Is this what a smile _should_ look like?

"Elsa!" Hans barks. "This one's dull. Sharpen it, will you?"

Elsa grabs the sword from his hand and stalks to the side in search of a whetstone. By chance she glances up at the participants and pauses; Anna tests her arming sword expertly, each twirl of the blade releasing a subdued metallic hum. Satisfied, the princess readies herself and though her countenance remains playful there's an unmistakable glint in those eyes.

Hans swings his own sword and Anna meets him with a parry. The first round doesn't last long as Hans, ever the lapdog, barely puts any effort into it and allows himself to be cornered, a blatant attempt to please his target.

Much to Elsa's surprise, Anna catches on to this and lowers her sword in disappointment.

"Is something the matter?" Hans asks.

"No offense, but it's awful boring when someone's not even trying," Anna replies pointedly. "Come on, let's have a real match."

"You heard her!" Runo hollers. "Show a little backbone, Hansel!"

Hans clenches his jaw at the taunt.

Elsa returns the sharpened sword to its stand and decides to watch the match. Hans is more aggressive now, but Anna proves to be an agile opponent and almost seems to dance whenever she dodges a swing. She never uses the same counterattack twice, always keeping the Thirteenth Prince on his toes. Their blades meet into a stalemate and with quick reflexes Anna twists and swings hard, launching Hans' sword across the room. Rudi and Runo hoot and crow in delight and Elsa can't help but nod in approval. Despite her initial concerns Anna is proving to be a clever and tricky girl in her own right, and sure, far surer than Elsa may ever be.

But Hans doesn't seem at all pleased and fixes Elsa with a scowl. She jogs over to fetch the sword. Meanwhile Anna smiles apologetically, brushing some hairs behind her ear.

She asks, "Sorry, do you want to go again later? You seem distracted." After Hans plasters a reassuring look on his face and thanks Anna, she turns to the blonde. "Your name's Elsa, right? Would you like to spar with me?"

Elsa jerks slightly and stares at Anna like she's grown a second head. Anna pauses.

"Oh, you… don't know how?" she asks.

Elsa shakes her head.

"Oh! I'm sorry— I saw your scars and I thought, maybe she knows a bit of swordplay."

"Girl ain't no swordfighter but she can still fight like two devils," Runo sneers. "Speakin' of, Hansel, can we borrow her for a bit?"

Elsa freezes. Damn it all. Hans protests at first, feigning concern to keep on Anna's good side, but the twins swear "hand to God" that they only need Elsa's help with some work and she'll be back in one piece. Hans pretends to think it over and allows it. He and Anna exit the armory, leaving Elsa in a metaphorical den of jackals. Elsa steels herself and returns the swords to their stands, facing the twins with an impassive stare.

"Aw, don't give us that look, biter," Rudi leers at her. "A scrapper like you always brings in easy money from the ring."

* * *

Elsa doesn't return until much later that night, Rudi and Runo satisfied with their winnings and leaving her beaten and tasting blood (not her own). Her poor opponent had been left with his lower jaw fractured in two places, and he may require surgery if his master is kind, which Elsa can safely guess is not the case.

Snow falls heavily and coats her battered body, and Elsa sighs in quiet relief at the cold on her hot skin. She stalks around the castle grounds, remembering she's to stay in the servant's quarters to keep appearances up and hopes to sneak in a quick bath to avoid suspicion. However, she hadn't accounted for the possibility that Princess Anna would just now be returning to the stables from a moonlit ride.

Anna removes her horse's saddle and notices the soft crunch of feet on fresh snow; there's a familiar figure in the shadows outside moving with a noticeable limp. Recognizing Elsa and disturbed by her condition, Anna bounds up. She is somewhat aware that some people don't like being touched, but when she calls out Elsa's name and reaches for her shoulder she doesn't expect the blonde girl to react like she'd been stabbed.

Elsa doesn't just jump; she _leaps_ away throwing both arms up and yells loud enough to give Anna a start. Elsa presses herself against the outer stable wall and hunches her back, hands clawed and white-knuckled, mist steaming with heavy breaths and eyes wild, lips curled back to bare her bloodstained teeth like an angered beast. Her snow-drenched clothes are torn and dirty, stains of drying blood running from her mouth, and she sports a black eye with a red ring encircling the darkened iris.

For the first time, Elsa talks to her in a low growl that leaves no room for argument:

" _Don't touch me._ "

Anna lifts both hands above her head, somewhere between defensive and in shock. They stare each other down a while till Elsa bolts into the dark with startling speed. Anna can only watch her retreating figure and thinks back to the last time she'd seen the blonde servant girl, recalling the twins' request to 'borrow' her, and her stomach drops.

* * *

"You're sure?" Agdar asks the next morning on the way to breakfast.

Anna nods firmly. Agdar's sharp features harden in thought while Idunn's mouth shuts with a mechanical click of her teeth. Anna's parents are good people despite their own respective flaws and they know better than to take a hint of possible abuse lightly, especially when the news comes from their daughter's mouth.

Upon their arrival at the dining hall the servants are already preparing the table— Elsa is among them. She looks tired and a little dazed, moves with a slight limp, and the bruising at her eye has grown bluish-purple, a sharp contrast against her fair skin and hair. The Westergaards enter soon after, and sensing his cue Hans begins to pester the twins about Elsa's apparent injury ("You said she'd be back in one piece!" "She _is_ in one piece!"), and the blonde just goes about her business.

Runo offhandedly explains that a fight had broken out the previous night and Elsa had gotten caught in the middle of it. At Idunn's questioning look Elsa shrugs and makes a face that says, _Well they're not wrong…_

Here Elsa notices Anna glancing her way and then demurely looking down at her plate. Brushes hair behind her ear, chews on her lip. Elsa is more accustomed to people scrutinizing her and muttering under their breath, and so she isn't sure how to react to this sudden uncertainty in Anna, who she'd perceived a sure and confident young woman. Anna looks her way again and in those bright teal eyes is something Elsa hasn't seen in years—

Hans calls Elsa over to his side and she moves up, suddenly forgetting her injured leg and winces, grabbing the back of Anna's chair for support.

"Hey, are you all right?" Anna asks, that expression coming through much stronger now, but knows now not to touch her.

" _Fine_ ," Elsa mutters a bit more sharply than necessary; she bends her knee enough to examine her leg, gripping and prodding until satisfied. Anna noticeably leans back from her and Elsa now feels a pang of hurt in her chest, though she doesn't understand why. Is it the sudden skittishness brought on from last night, or the resignation in her face, or… or is it how her bright eyes are full of hurt or sadness? Just as she moves away Elsa catches the slightest hint of a sound— a sniffle.

This girl, though Elsa doesn't know her and so doesn't trust her, has done nothing wrong and treats her like a human being. _She deserves better_ , Elsa thinks. So she opens her mouth.

"Em," Elsa's voice is still hoarse and croaking. She tries again, clears her throat. "I… I'm sorry. For shouting, I mean."

Anna shoots her head back up and regards Elsa, gives her a little smile. "It's okay."

"Elsa!" Hans barks again.

Elsa sighs through her nose and limps toward him.

* * *

The remainder of the day goes without incident until Hans finds himself accosted by Lars, who is by and large the only good soul of all the Westergaard men, even if he is longwinded. Elsa may not trust him personally but she does trust him to be an honest and decent man among deceitful and indecent brothers.

"Hans, could I speak with you a moment?" Lars asks. Just as Hans and Elsa walk up he looks at his younger brother in slight puzzlement. "Hans, I only need to talk to _you_. I'm sure Miss Elsa has important duties to see to, unless she's your bodyguard now?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Hans quips. Perish the thought.

Lars shrugs his shoulders and nods at Elsa. "I suppose we'll see you soon."

Elsa is so used to waited long, extended periods of time that this sudden change in routine throws her for a loop. She opens her mouth, looks from Lars to Hans and back again before closing her mouth, unsure of what to say. Elsa settles for a terse nod and, spying some servants in the distance, makes to join them. Lars and Hans enter the room and once she catches the door clicking shut Elsa doubles back and heads for Hans' chambers.

Thank the gods. And thank Lars for that matter, bless his soul. She may never get a chance like this again. Elsa lopes through the halls like a servant on an important errand to avoid suspicion and once she approaches Hans' room she gives the door handle a jiggle— unlocked. Elsa's heart leaps into her throat and she swiftly enters, giving the interior a once-over in search of that mahogany chest.

It lies out of sight under the four-poster bed and seeing the lock sealing it shut Elsa curses under her breath. This must be done quickly; Hans may have a good relationship with Lars but he has no patience for his brother's lectures and might very well be heading to his room now. Elsa spies a sword on display against the adjacent wall and pulls it loose, rushing back to the chest. She rests her free right hand atop it to keep the chest steady and with the left she uses the pommel as a makeshift hammer against the lock. The blows are rushed and clumsy in Elsa's increasing panic, several times coming close to bludgeoning her own hand.

Now she's beginning to realize this is another costly mistake— even if she manages to break the lock, how will she escape the castle with her seal skin undetected? The lock's destruction will not be noiseless, as passing slaves will catch the ruckus and rush off to inform guards of a potential thief. Elsa doesn't know this castle like she does Hans' manor and there are only so many places she can effectively hide. Her injured leg, while not broken, would only hinder any escape she'd attempt. And what will happen to Marshmallow, that loyal elkhound who has been her closest friend throughout the years? Hans is fond of horses but is not above abusing animals, and there isn't a doubt in Elsa's mind that he will try to kill the dog.

This last thought inspires enough strength to finally crack the lock loose and Elsa chucks the sword, throws the chest open. For an instant all thoughts flee her mind at a sight she has dreamed of for five long, arduous years. The silver fur with black spots and still smelling of the sea rests folded within, undamaged and unsullied by ignorant human hands.

Elsa can't quite recall what a full, genuine ear-to-ear smile is like, but can feel her face breaking out into one and imagines she must look borderline manic in her relief and joy. Gods— the soft fur is still so plush and warm under her calloused hands— she's waited _so long_ for this moment, _so very long_. Elsa bundles the fur into her arms and deeply breathes in that old familiar scent, warmth rushing through her whole being.

Finally after an eternity of aching hands and ragged souls coming and going like the eternal tide swallowed whole and nameless, blood rushing inside and out the body, winter nights spent in hay bales and tattered cloth, back-breaking work in spite of illness, clamoring stomachs and hunger pangs, battles waged over what food is spared the fiery kiss of the cat-o-nine-tails, the club tenderizing meat already weathered by harsh condition , the invasive sensation of outstretched hands making fine hairs stand on end, the hushed whispers and fearful eyes, isolation of the self from truly knowing the hearts of Man or Woman, the fear of betrayal that comes from knowing such hearts, _beat you curse you cheat you don't let them in don't let them see_

 _So nearly free._

Just then the reality of her present situation crashes headlong back into her, and Elsa's heart stops at the sound of rapidly approaching footfalls outside. Elsa kicks herself; why didn't she think of barricading the door with furniture? She whips her head around; the sword is still within reach but useless in her inexperienced hands, yet if she's fast enough—

The footsteps are almost right outside the door. Knowing it opens inwardly, Elsa desperately lunges for the sword and positions herself to hammer the pommel against Hans' face as he opens the door. Gods, what she wouldn't do to see his smug, self-entitled face swollen and bloody. what a full ear-to-ear smileed within, undamaged and unr five long, arduous years. The silver fur with black spo

The door turns in and Elsa haphazardly swings the sword. But Hans has counted on something like this and just manages to catch the pommel, disarming Elsa and knocking her prone with a hard right hook. The ensuing melee is a blur of limbs as Hans tries to wrestle the skin out of Elsa's grasp, but his close proximity allows her to headbutt him and she scrambles out of reach, the skin thrown over her shoulder.

Finally the five-year buildup comes to this moment. Just as Hans had promised on their first meeting, it will be to the death, and by heaven and hell Elsa will fight like a mad devil even if it kills her.

"Thought I might find you here, you dirty thieving mongrel," Hans sneers, rubbing the bridge of his nose where Elsa had struck him. "You really didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you? I warned you, sea devil, but you never fail to disobey your master—"

"To hell with you!" Elsa curses and shows her teeth. "May you melt off the earth like snow off the ditch. I'd rather die than give you power over me."

Hans' face distorts once more into that ugly visage of evil and hate. He drops the sword and removes his gloves, cracks his knuckles. There will be no room for blades in this tangle.

He abandons all inhibitions and throws a fist at her. Rather than take it, this time Elsa catches the punch— with her teeth. Hans howls, his fingers clamped down between Elsa's strong jaws as though caught in a bear trap, and he whales on her with his free arm. She endures the blows, latching onto his trapped arm and directs several strikes of her own towards his midsection, tightening her grip and ready to destroy at least one hand that has broken so many souls.

Locked in a violent grapple, neither of them notice the figure standing in the doorway. They still don't notice until Elsa releases Hans' hand and lunges to snap at his throat; before her teeth can sink into his jugular both Elsa and Hans are roughly pulled apart.

" _Enough_ ," a deep voice rumbles and drags them out of their blood-frenzy, blood freezing over in their veins. Terror possessing her, Elsa pulls away from the King's grasp and drops to the floor, scrambling back till her back meets the wall.

Holger stares the two down with his cold, dark eyes. Somehow he'd managed to snag the seal skin from Elsa and holds it between them expectantly. Elsa doesn't dare go any closer to the man than she already has and lies rooted to her spot. Pinned by his father's eyes, Hans stammers and gropes for articulation.

"Well?" Holger growls.

"S-She tried to steal from me," Hans weakly explains. "That fur— it's hers, or it was, it's mine now— so she belongs to me, but she's always fighting me, she never acknowledges my place as her master—"

Holger lays the back of his hand on Hans' shoulder, effectively silencing him. Elsa can see the power in that hand, how under layers of fine cloth the muscles tense in preparation, how he doesn't even need to strike his thirteenth son to assert dominance, something he very easily can but chooses not to. Slowly the hand turns, thick fingers splayed and snaking around Hans' neck. Those fingers tighten, just enough to make Hans stiffen in terror without cutting off his air supply.

Holger spares a look towards Elsa. She shrinks away from him, the defiance in her eyes evaporating into fear of the King.

" _You_ ," he rumbles, looking back at Hans. " _Useless_ ," his voice lowers and so does his stance, sinking his knees to Hans' level. " _Waste_ ," he ends in a whisper.

Hans says nothing, lips pressing together in a thin line and his chin visibly trembling.

Holger lowers his hand. "I'll deal with it." He locks eyes with Elsa and jerks his head, the blonde scrambling to her feet faster than she's ever done in her life and certainly faster than Hans has made her need to. The King almost smiles in approval. Almost.

He points a meaty finger at her. "Come with me." Next he points at Hans coldly. "Get out of my sight."

"But—"

"How many times must I tell you— show some care for your dogs, or else they'll bite you one day? How many times must you continue to disappoint me?"

Hans clenches his bloodied hand heedless of pain and stiffly bows his head, taking leave much like a hound with his tail between his legs. Holger tosses the silver fur at the bed stomps into the hallway as Elsa rushes after him, dread gripping her very soul.

* * *

Holger leads Elsa to a familiar, secluded area outside the castle (she knows this place, this place that smells of blood and sweat and despair) where none save the King and a select few are allowed to enter; here is where the King deals punishment when he must if his sons have failed the duties he places upon them.

They walk past a fire pit and into a shed, where Holger grabs two chairs and places them in the center, facing each other.

He orders, "Have a seat."

Elsa obeys, hands gripping her knees. Holger's eyes examine Elsa's hands, flick over to see the hanging assortment of utensils around them, and return to those hands. His footfalls creak heavily against the wood as he takes a cast iron cooking pan, rummages through the shelves for a specific container, and steps outside. Elsa watches him light the fire pit in her peripheral and grips both knees so tightly her knuckles turn white. Soon Holger returns empty handed.

"The boy is useless when it comes to matters like this. For all his eagerness he lacks… imagination."

Holger sits in the chair opposite of Elsa and places his monstrously large hands atop her small ones; she tenses and her breath hitches. Here the King's bearded face forms a smile and his baritone softens, as though trying to comfort a weeping child.

"Please don't misunderstand my intentions. Such a perverse violation of its body would give me no satisfaction. Not to mention the complications of a potential bastard child. Now, I seem to recall seeing its face before. Tell me, does it remember?"

How can Elsa forget? How can she when the scene has been forever burned into the back of her mind till the day she dies; Hans had brought her to witness Holger perform an ancient punishment (for what, she can't recall); Elsa's senses are assaulted with the sight and smell and sound of human viscera— how Holger cuts the skin at a man's spine with surgical precision, the muffled pop of bones breaking, the wet and meaty _squelching_ and sundering of flesh and muscle as big hands reach inside through broken ribs and bring out the man's lungs like the outstretched wings of an eagle.

She nods.

Holger carefully examines her hands.

"Hans has already damaged it so much, instilled in it so much fear and doubt and hate. I've always found a fearless thing so much more satisfying to punish." His brow furrows and then he shakes his head decisively. "No, it won't spread wings tonight. That would give me no satisfaction."

Holger glances outside, where the contents within the pan are beginning to sizzle and pop.

"I hear in the East, the penalty for theft is to cut off the right hand at the wrist if the thief does not repent. It seems an appropriate punishment, but what good will that do? It needs both hands to work, and I have no need for gruesome trophies. So, will it repent for its crime against my fool son?"

It takes Elsa a moment, frozen in fear like a mouse cornered by a snake, but she shakes her head.

"Am I to assume, then, that this is not its first offense? It will continue down this cycle of punishment?"

A nod.

He smiles again, but all Elsa sees is the rictus grin of the dead. He rises and leaves the shed once more, returning with the steaming pan and pulling the door shut. Elsa's body breaks into a sheen of cold sweat and goosebumps, the fine hairs standing on end. Holger, with a gentleness unbecoming of his brutality, grips Elsa's hands and stretches her arms out, holds the pan above the pale skin.

Elsa has suffered much agony during her time on land and would have believed herself growing immune to ordinary pain, but has suffered nothing like this. Sizzling oil streams down from the methodically turned pan and marks its wrath on her skin and oh, spirits, how she screams. Not even Hans' whip could inspire such a hellish chorus, volcanic ropes melting the flesh in paradoxically artistic patterns. Dragon's venom. Elsa is momentarily blinded by the obliteration of her nerve endings, fire coursing through her being at tremendous speed and so great is her howl that the veins in her neck pulsate. Her voice all but gives out before the sound fully escapes her throat.

The dragon-king releases her and the world turns on its head. It's becoming hard to breathe. The sizzling dies down but the fire remains. Cooked, burnt meat.

"That's a lovely voice," Holger murmurs almost reverently.

Gasping and whimpering in anguish Elsa forces one bloodshot eye open, ignoring the sting of sweat cascading down her face, and again is captured by Holger's stare. He tilts his head slightly and looks curiously at her.

"You're never going to break under him, are you?"

The question doesn't surprise Elsa, but his choice of word does; this is the first time Holger has referred to a slave with normal human pretenses instead of casting aside the element of humanity, which just about anyone can easily do with how Elsa carries herself like an animal. To answer his query she firmly shakes her head in the negative. Holger juts his lower jaw out, considering.

"Why not submit? It would be so much easier to live under him."

 _Easy?_ Does this demon of a king, of all people, seriously think that _submission_ to his fiend son is supposed to make life _easy?_ The very idea offends Elsa on a level she hasn't yet known. For the first time she allows rage to mix into her fear and with a noise like an angry cat she bares fangs at the dreaded king. Elsa's entire body twitches, and in the subtle change in Holger's eyes she knows he catches a glimpse of her true nature. He leans back and regards her, somewhere between perturbed and fascinated.

Elsa hisses at him, " _No._ "

"No?"

"If I submit—" here Elsa coughs harshly when her vocal chords sort of tickle her throat in protest, spits at the floor, "…then he wins."

Elsa has seen the slaves who lower themselves to simpering lickspittles in Hans' presence and knows the reason why they submit— empathy. They hate him at first, only to learn how he comes from a wounded home, and in turn learn that wounds can create monsters. But in doing so they begin to excuse his abuse towards them; they will excuse and justify and even defend his actions, because how can a man who is truly just a broken little boy in the depths of his heart ever be held responsible for his actions?

That is ultimately their undoing. Hans, incompetent as he is at politics and royalty, masterfully manipulates the human aspect and makes himself appear the victim, makes them believe he can change if they but serve him with devotion and conveniently turn a blind eye when his true colors show. Emotional wounds or no, Hans chooses to do the evil he does of his own free will. He has every opportunity to better himself and atone for his sins, but he never will. He can't bear parting with the sick pleasure he gets from tormenting the ones he deems inferior.

Elsa knows better, and so will not give in.

And Holger, damn him, can only nod. As if he actually has a care for this slave his son has beaten bloody for her unrelenting defiance. Elsa knows he doesn't once those hands wrap around her neck in much the same way he did his son, only this time he does not relax his grip.

"It's a pity," Holger almost whispers. "I've never seen one with a fire in its soul like yours… shame to snuff it out like a mere candle."

It's probably the first (and only) time King Holger will ever show anything resembling respect in his own demented way, until his hands tighten around her neck like a vice and cut off the air from Elsa's lungs. She knows that almost certainly she is going to die by this man, never to see her father's silver pelt, and will never return to the sea. This she must understand. She must accept. She must let it go.

But it's hard.

The will to live is all she has left.

* * *

…

She doesn't entirely know what transpired before she regains consciousness. All she knows is that her clothes are damp with sweat and a chill has settled into her bones. Her head feels simultaneously empty and heavy. Still hard to breathe. The stench of overcooked flesh is still fresh and her vision is blurred.

The King is gone.

A scratching on wood, followed by insisting whining.

Elsa forces herself to crawl for the door and is dimly aware that she feels far away from her body. The shed door is slightly ajar, enough for the cold air to filter inside but not enough for Marshmallow to nudge it open. Elsa pushes the door open and collapses into the snow, her elkhound companion sniffling and licking her face.

The King is gone and she'd been left for dead, but she remains.

It takes a long time but Elsa somehow returns to the royal stables and throws herself into the hay. Marshmallow pushes his paws against her body for a reaction and receives a weak rasp. Elsa mouths something incoherently and tugs the snow-drenched shirt from her body, desperate to cool her overheating body. Marshmallow sniffs her hair and races into the snow.

Using a side entrance he finds Princess Anna in the castle courtyard examining the intricate black statues and fountains. She greets him in delight but grows puzzled when he takes the hem of her dress in his teeth and yanks, whining, trying to convey in the canine way the need to follow. Anna asks him what the matter is and the elkhound barks shrilly at her before taking off like a shot. The castle guards pay him no mind and figure he only wants attention, and they've heard Arendelle's princess is a capable enough girl on her own, so they pointedly ignore Anna rushing out of the castle.

Marshmallow leads her to the stables and starts digging through a pile of hay one of the horses is half eating from, half searching through. The dog looks back at Anna and huffs insistently at her. Now very confused, Anna spots a lump in the hay pile and she reaches in to prod at it. The lump flinches under her touch.

"Hey!" Anna yells in surprise.

The lump makes a horrible cracking, rasping, wheeze that might be a responding, " _Hh… hey-y…_ "

The horse nudges and sifts his snout through the hay pile and the lump hooks a thin arm around his strong neck, the horse pulling up. Covered in hay and dried blood and almost nude from the waist up is Elsa.

Anna recoils in shock, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle any noise, but all that comes out are the horrified, inarticulate gasps of one fortunate enough to never witness human cruelty.

Elsa is gaunt, bordering on skin and bones, her unbound hair mostly long and flowing but ragged and chopped up in some places, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent than before, and her pale skin is positively riddled with scars. Besides the cut on her left cheek and the glimpses of lash-marks on her shoulders, Elsa's torso bears many burns and brands, slashes, and animal-like claw marks, and around her neck are giant purpling bruises. But probably worst of all are the whorls of melted flesh snaking and weaving all along her hands and forearms, still red and angry and recent. Despite the brutality there's something paradoxically artistic in those particular scars, given to her by some superheated liquid.

By the time Anna finds her voice she is shaking with fury. "Who in God's name did this to you?"

Elsa looks over at Anna with glazed-over eyes. She takes a step, falters, then leans against the horse for support and breathes heavily, the swelling in her vocal chords creating a slight whistle with each breath. She barely has enough strength to move, looks sick, and doesn't seem entirely aware of anything. Elsa just mouths something and moves away from the horse, neither girl knowing what to do for different reasons, until Elsa's legs buckle and she drops to the hard floor.

Marshmallow yelps from his spot in the hay and pounces, whining and pushing his forepaws against Elsa to elicit any reaction. Elsa seems to regain her senses and voicelessly groans. Anna, heedless of the last time she'd touched Elsa, unclasps her cloak and throws it around the blonde like a blanket, presses the back of her knuckles against Elsa's brow. Her skin is rough with dried blood and sweat and hot to the touch. Elsa, oddly calm, stares at Anna.

She is too weak to walk and not in a mind to protest when Anna lifts her up with a grunt. It's slow going but the princess makes her way inside the castle with Marshmallow padding behind them. On the way to her temporary chambers Anna grows aware that the character of Elsa's stare has changed. Still dazed and feverish, but Elsa blinks slowly and seems to be thinking; Anna's overheard Queen Sigrun mention how Elsa sometimes watches the horizon like a dog waiting for its master's return, but the analogy somehow doesn't feel right. Her gaze is distant as though caught in a dream or some long lost memory.

Just as they enter her chambers and Elsa is laid out on the bed she manages to rasp out one last sound before falling asleep (or losing consciousness again). Anna isn't sure, but she thinks Elsa had said:

" _Sorry._ "

* * *

Over the next three days Elsa drifts in and out of consciousness, sleeping the worst of her fever away and occasionally being subjected to impromptu check-ups by Anna. By now she can more or less communicate without wheezing or constantly clearing her throat, and every time Anna asks if she wants anything to eat the answer is the same: "Bread." It's the only thing Elsa has the stomach for anymore.

Either her staying in Anna's guest chamber must be a well-guarded secret or she's considered missing or dead by the staff, because the only people now allowed to enter are Anna herself or her parents. Idunn had looked genuinely— frighteningly— angry at Elsa's condition, Agdar having called in a local physician to tend to her wounds while Anna smuggles in bread and water for her (poor girl's eyebrows vanish into her hairline upon witnessing Elsa's table manners, or lack thereof).

"Me, Mama, and Papa have been talking," Anna whispers to her one night. "We're thinking of taking you with us to Arendelle."

Here Elsa pauses and gives Anna a look. Not quite the same distrusting, distant look as when they'd first met, but a tired one.

"I know, and I'm sorry to spring this up on you so suddenly, but… well, they have friends who know what it's like. To live in chains, I mean. Arendelle isn't like here; we've banned it in our part of Norway. It's just a small part, but it's something. You don't have any family here, do you?"

Elsa shakes her head, takes a swig of water.

"Do you have anywhere else to go?"

Elsa pauses, wistfulness coming into her eyes. She shakes her head again, less firmly this time.

Anna bites her lip. "I know you don't trust me, and I don't blame you. But I'm offering you a chance to get away from here and start fresh in a new place. Live freely. Oh, and your dog can come too! Would that be okay?"

Elsa wrings her hands. Yes, isn't that what she's waited for all these years? Wasn't that to be the end of a long and agonizing journey paved with sweat and blood and hate and patience? To breathe in clean air and dive under the surf and hunt and live and sing just like how life should be? And yet there is no comforting weight on her shoulders. Another failure.

But there's something in Anna's eyes, Elsa doesn't know what, but it makes her nod slightly. Arendelle may not be the Skagerrak, but she'll take anything over the Southern Isles.

* * *

Within two days Idunn manages to smuggle Elsa aboard their ship, disguising her as extra cargo and telling her to lay low until they set sail, something Elsa is quite good at when she needs to be. She doesn't know how the political side of the visit has turned out but can hazard a guess that Arendelle will not have any business with the Southern Isles anytime soon. By the third day her situation has been explained to the sailors and she is allowed to move freely on deck, and she takes this opportunity to watch the Southern Isles receding into the horizon. It's the last she'll ever see of that blighted place and Elsa is glad for it.

Any concerns the sailors have over her presence are assuaged when she appears to display natural sea legs and isn't at all bothered by the roll and buck of waves despite her apparent poor health.

What does bother her, Anna finds, is the food.

Not seeing the blonde in any of the bunks after dinner, Anna decides to look on deck and catches the sound of a violent coughing fit. She finds Elsa leaning over the portside, heaving and retching loudly, ejecting ropes of barely digested soup into the waves. Once it subsides she walks over to a bucket of water and cleans her face; Elsa takes a deep breath but scrunches her face oddly, sniffs the air and grimaces, covering nose and mouth with the collar of her shirt.

Anna frowns and contemplates the sight; that soup had likely been the first decent meal the poor girl's had in years yet that and even the smell of fresh, clean air is being rejected by a body long since accustomed to the living conditions of the Southern Isles. It will be a long time before Elsa can fully adjust to a new life.

Now Elsa, unaffected by the chill air despite her meager attire, stands at the portside again and just stares at the water, watches the iridescent reflection of the moon dance upon the water's surface. Her bruised face is blank but her bloodshot eyes howl with something akin to longing. A brief jolt of panic surges in Anna's breast— what if Elsa is contemplating jumping overboard? Thinking quickly she removes her jacket and rushes in.

Elsa is taken aback when a soft, feather-light weight falls on her shoulders. She looks over her shoulder and sees the Princess of Arendelle— but now she's discarded her jacket. It's still warm. For whatever reason Elsa initially thinks the jacket on her is due to an accident (maybe Her Highness mistook her for a makeshift coat hanger?) and motions to remove it.

"No, keep it," Anna says softly.

Elsa blinks several times and tilts her head.

They stare at each other awhile before Anna explains, "It's cold. I'm giving it to you so you don't catch your death out here."

Elsa doesn't know how to respond to this. She inarticulately points from the jacket to Anna and back again, looking so genuinely baffled that Anna doesn't know whether to embrace her or break the bones of her abusers.

Instead Anna tells her, "It's yours now." Then as an afterthought she mentions, "Blue isn't really my color, anyway."

Slipping her arms through the sleeves Elsa is briefly reminded of what it's like— what it _was_ like— to have the seal skin around her; it'd never been a heavy thing despite its length and carried with it the characteristic scent of sea salt. A thing of comfort and security. By comparison this human jacket is a poor substitute, lightweight and short in length and not providing much protection, but Elsa doesn't feel compelled to return it after hearing Anna's words.

 _It's yours now._

During her five years of servitude under Hans she'd never been given anything. Things like clothes or blankets had been fought over by the other servants like dogs fighting over scraps of food. Elsa herself had to resort to theft many times just to get by some days, simply because stealing made life just a little bit easier.

And now this strange Princess of Arendelle gives her a jacket out of kindness.

Elsa tightly grips the blue fabric and though she tries to heed the warning in her heart she can't sense an ulterior motive on Princess Anna's part. Unlike the lovely but cruel Mother Gothel or Hans, Anna doesn't appear to have a truly malicious bone in her body. Perhaps things truly will be different once they arrive at Arendelle.

* * *

 _Tar isteach, a strainséar righin_ ( _Come in, tense stranger)  
_ _Tar isteach_ ( _Come in)  
_ _Suí chun boird (_ _Sit by the table)  
_ _Ól braon di (_ _Have a drink)  
_ _Nó lig do scíth_ ( _Or have a rest)  
_ _'S inis dúinn an fáth go bhfuil_ ( _And tell us the reason why)  
_ _Do aghaidh chiúin uaigneach dorcha_ ( _Your quiet face is dark and lonely)  
_ _An fáth go bhfuil do shúile lán le cuamha_ ( _Why your eyes are full of sadness)_  
 _Cé tú féin…?_ ( _Who are you…?)_


	3. Toska

Has it been almost a year already? Sorry for the wait!

* * *

 **III: Toska**

" _The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time._ "  
—Jack London

In Anna's youth she'd often been entranced by her mother's ocean stories. On nights when the sky is alive with the aurora Idunn would carry little Anna to her room and light a candle before recounting her experiences on the open sea. Though Idunn maintained that she'd been raised on merchant vessels Anna had always privately imagined her mother among privateers, or pirates.

(Even as a young adult Anna likes the idea. Roaring cannon fire, golden treasure hoards, gleaming swords.)

Idunn has a tendency to speak with her hands when telling stories, a method that'd never failed to inspire little Anna's adventurous dreaming. One time Anna had asked about sea monsters so Idunn brought a very old map of the Nordic countries, decorated with a colorful bestiary of marine creatures— draconic depictions of whales, ferocious serpents, crustaceans larger than ships, and more outlandish whiskered chimeras— and pointed out ones she'd seen on her voyages, or believes she'd seen.

Idunn had pointed at one specimen in particular; a draconic depiction of the baleen whale, wolfish in face with tusks and great paws, a little calf at its side and a boar-headed orca at its flank.

"I swam with one of those," Idunn tells her, and gives Anna's awestruck gaze a wink. "We were sailing by a pod of whales and I fell overboard."

"Weren't you scared?" Anna asks, eyeing the monstrous visage.

" _Terrified!_ Imagine tumbling off the side of your ship and crashing into the brine, water roaring and sloshing in your ears, and it stings like tiny pins when you open your eyes, and when you do…"

Here Idunn holds her right hand up to measure an inch between her thumb and index fingers, then uses her left to outline the marine colossus, continues in a hushed whisper.

"You meet a creature like that, so large and powerful it staggers you how something that size can exist. And there may be things even larger lurking in the deep. You're scared at first, but the creature leaves you be. It passes you by to join its pod, dwarfs the ship you fell from, and leaves with a song under the waves."

"Whales can sing?"

"Something like it. A whale song isn't something a creature on land can make."

"What's it like?" Anna asks.

Idunn purses her lips. "Well, I confess I haven't been around enough whales to know for certain. I suppose it's how they talk to each other without words, between songs and this sort of clicking sound they make." Here Idunn makes her best (and worst) imitation of a whale's clicking.

Anna giggles at the noise, but tugs insistently at her mother's sleeve. "But what's the song like? Does it sound like people songs?"

Idunn doesn't answer for a moment. Her eyes glaze over and she stares into the old map, lost somewhere in the fog of memories.

"Some sound more human than others," she says.

* * *

Elsa retreats into the crew quarters when her legs begin to ache after a time of watching the waves roll by. It's disconcerting how increasingly often she must remind herself of things to do beyond watching the horizon, how she must remind herself to _sleep, I need to sleep_.

She wonders if sleep will ever come as easily to her as it does to these sailors, cocooned in cloth hammocks gently swaying with the ship's movements.

Even during the sickness after her traumatic ordeal with King Holger, Elsa's sleeping hours had been restless ones; after five years in slavery one's sleep is often dogged by physical aches or the hollow echo of words poisoning the mind. Sleep had always been seen as a luxury exclusive to slave masters, or the dead.

So she haphazardly clambers onto the hammock and gets herself situated, grunting softly when Marshmallow jumps aboard with her and makes himself comfortable.

It doesn't take long for a realization to come upon her. The last five years, full of patience and servitude and the scars left behind by them, have not left Elsa angered or embittered by her own failures to retrieve what's hers. She is so _tired_. The bone, dead tiredness of what feels like an eternity of slavery have finally caught up to her, and the hammock's gentle rocking gives off an illusion of buoyancy that vaguely reminds her of floating in water.

Elsa's eyelids grow heavy and soon she finds herself sleeping deeply for the first time in forever.

* * *

A sudden ruckus jolts Elsa awake with a start and she momentarily forgets her surroundings, only knowing the cloth cocoon enveloping her and the heavy tromping of feet on wood and raised voices all around her. Marshmallow leaves the hammock while Elsa, in her panic, twists and flails trying to escape the confined space. Finally she manages to untangle herself long enough to yelp before clumsily falling onto the wooden boards below.

Some sailors watch on in amusement, laughing as the scene unfolds. Elsa's face burns and she ducks her head in shame. Marshmallow groans placatingly, nudging his head against hers in the dog's way of showing comfort. Though the remnants of her dignity are hurt, Elsa appreciates the gesture and returns it in kind with gentle scratches behind his ears.

She follows the sailors to the deck where they begin the day's work. Elsa has never been on a ship before this one and is ignorant of the work required, so she stands out of the way and observes how each sailor tends to his assigned duty. It doesn't take long before the ocean spray hypnotically redirects her attention to the Kattegat Sea around them, deep blue waves reflecting the sun's rays.

Anna boards the deck and just as the previous night finds Elsa transfixed by the sea. However, now under the clear light of day she recognizes something in Elsa's dreamlike gaze and slow blinks; it's much the same as that stare she'd seen when Elsa had been delirious with fever days before. Anna also notices the subtle tilt and turn of the blonde's head, as if listening for some faraway sound. Following her line of sight, Anna catches something in the distance and pulls out a spyglass; a pod of right whales cresting the surface.

Without knowing why she is reminded of her mother's tales of whale songs and peers curiously at Elsa. Surely she can't be _listening_ to them from this distance? What's more, Anna can see Elsa's chapped lips moving, the near imperceptible flex and shift of the muscles in her neck… she is making sounds herself, so faint and indistinct that Anna can barely make out a whisper.

For her part, Elsa is desperately recalling the ways of the sea, the notes of a siren's song as familiar to her as her own pulse. It is not something one hears with their ears so much as one can _feel_. Out here on the rolling waves ( _close, so close_ ) she can feel it clearer than she ever could on land or through dream or memory, so clearly her heart wails. Elsa tries to answer the call without straining her taxed vocal chords, but the way her chest grows heavy with despairing heart causes a sob to lurch from her diaphragm.

The sudden reaction leaves Elsa in another coughing fit that breaks her spellbound gaze and mutes the song. She ignores the burn in her eyes and growls in frustration, cursing the Southern Isles; bad enough to suffer under club, lash, and chain ( _around her wrists and mind_ ), but a worse injury is how she has adapted to that blighted kingdom in such a way that she can't even breathe the ocean air without suffering a near allergic reaction.

One of the sailors belts out a seafarer's tune and his fellows join in, the work sounds all along the deck taking on a rhythmic quality. Elsa spares them a cursory glance over her shoulder and jumps a little when she notices Anna's presence beside her. She does not yell or snarl, a great improvement over the last time Anna had caught her unawares, but watches the princess with simultaneous caution and curiosity. Her time in the Isles has made trust difficult.

Anna senses this and offers a smile as a peace offering. Elsa still isn't certain of the expression but is quickly learning that among humans (or at least those like Anna) that smiling with one's teeth is a show of good will. This girl may not know her but she has saved her life, and Elsa thinks it only fair to repay the princess's efforts, and so returns the smile.

Or, more accurately, she tries to.

It comes across more like a grimace, as Elsa has never needed to show teeth without curling her lips back, and she fumbles with the imitation trying not to show too much of her prominent canines. She knows that Anna's eyes shine with every smile, in contrast to her own tired and dull gaze. Elsa distantly wonders if her eyes have ever been as bright as Anna's… and if they ever will be again.

Then Anna gives her _that_ look and Elsa finally understands where she's seen it before. A look of worry she remembers from her mother, albeit of a different sort. Ingrid of Orkney's worry had been that of a mother leaving her firstborn to fend for herself in an environment where only the strong and clever survive; whereas Anna' worry is that of someone who has never encountered so many unknowns in one individual, who has never witnessed what can cause Men to retrogress into a more primeval state.

"Who _are_ you?" Anna wonders.

Elsa clenches her jaw, looks back to the horizon.

 _Don't let them in. Don't let them see. Beat you. Curse you. Cheat you._

"Hoi, Princess!" one sailor calls out. "Give us a song!"

Anna watches Elsa watch the sea for a moment before joining the seamen. She tries to maintain focus on that of whales in the distance, in the intonations of a song reverberating in her blood and bones. It's just been so long since she's heard it this clearly; the best she can describe it is being reminded of portions that'd begun to fade from memory. She feels… fuller for it, though not yet whole.

But something new steals Elsa's attention away from the sea and she turns to find the source. Anna is leading the men in another song, her voice carrying the notes with a passion and life that Elsa has never known existed. Anna seems to have become a conduit of the very spirit of music and expresses her whole being into the performance, no matter how abrupt or impromptu the request for one had been.

So much like yet unlike the selkie song as Elsa remembers it, this human music. The selkie song is a performance of eerie beauty, melancholic and hopeful for a brighter future, while this particular form of human song seems an expression of the joy in hard and honest labor by Men of the sail. The words tell a sort of story, and Elsa finds herself listening with rapt attention, silently mouthing along to the tune.

All the while she never takes her eyes off of Anna— this strange, bright-eyed, clever, kind young woman from Arendelle who saved her life. A foreign sensation stirs in Elsa's chest, and though she lacks a name for it she welcomes it, this feeling of… being-at-home.

How odd.

* * *

"It's uncanny," Agdar says, paying one last glance to the strange slave girl before he and Idunn join the captain at the wheel. "Have you ever seen anything like it? What manner of man does that to a person?"

Idunn looks up at her husband. "Whatever left her like that is more beast than man."

To be sure, Idunn had known quite a few former slaves during her sailing years— runaways eager to be given the opportunity for honest paid work, or lost souls not knowing what to do with themselves without a master to tend to. Elsa is not like them. Since boarding, she barely eats and just stares at the water, or maybe at something beyond the water that only she can see; the few times she is among company she eyes them like a caged animal.

This tension is further exacerbated by the fact that she simply cannot stand being touched. Idunn remembers bringing in that physician just days before casting off, how Elsa had hissed at the man and looked ready to take a bite out of him. Fortunately she seems marginally more accustomed to Anna's presence, so Anna has been present every time Elsa's burns must be tended to.

"Do you think she can recover?" Agdar asks.

"It's only been a few days, Ags," Idunn counsels. "You can't expect a girl to come out of that hellhole and turn into a perfectly adjusted member of society overnight. Just give her time."

The captain grips the wheel and oversees his crew. "She seems to favor the Princess's company. Why not give her a job in the castle, as a servant?"

"That would require social interaction that I'm not sure she's ready for," Agdar points out, "Unless it's language barriers stunting her progress. Idunn, you've spoken to her before, haven't you?"

"That was one time, and it was hardly a conversation. But what bothers me is that Sigrun told me she's from Orkney in Scotland; then why does she clearly speak _Irish_ Gaelic? Oh, don't give me that look, Agdar— we've had enough business with Dun'Broch for you to know what Scottish sounds like."

"All the same…"

"Besides," Idunn adds, "I don't feel comfortable putting her to work in her condition. She needs time to recover her health."

The captain looks thoughtful. "Oh, doesn't Her Highness have a friend just outside of town? That Sami fellow, Bjorgman. Maybe he can put the girl up for a spell?"

"Do you think it's wise to leave her alone in a secluded cabin with a strange man?" Agdar objects.

Idunn fixes him with a dull look. "Agdar, you know I love you, but when it comes to people you couldn't find your own ass if you used both hands. I've met Kristoff, he's a good man."

Agdar shrugs his shoulders. Even when they'd first met many years ago when Idunn had been forced to babysit a greenhorn prince suckling mother's milk from a silver spoon (her words at the time), Agdar has had difficulty relating with the common people. How should he act around them without making a fool of himself, or coming off as aloof? He has always been more comfortable with politics and governing simply because it's what he's accustomed to. The fact that Idunn keeps her ear to the ground and pays attention to the common people helps him in making the decisions that benefit the wellbeing of his kingdom.

But even he has to admit, Elsa's current state of being makes him look like a social butterfly by comparison. And based on what he knows of Kristoff Bjorgman, the ice harvester prefers a measure of isolation while knowing enough how to socially navigate; if he's friends with Anna, then Agdar can only hope this option can help in Elsa's recovery.

* * *

Arendelle's castle is the first thing Elsa sees of her new… home? It feels strange to call it such, but this construct is more welcoming than the black, serpentine fortress she'd left behind. Its placement in the fjord implies a protective barrier for its people against dangers from the sea.

It takes Elsa a moment to adjust when stepping onto the solid stone wharf. She eyes the castle and port city uncertainly while Marshmallow sniffs his way around this new location, keeping close to his mistress. Anna maintains a respectful distance from Elsa but is still close enough to converse.

"I guess it's a lot to get used to," Anna muses, to which Elsa shrugs. "We discussed living arrangements the other day, right?" Elsa nods. "Yeah, I mentioned Kristoff to you. Would you like to meet him, get a feel for the place?"

Though grateful to have been told of the mountain man Kristoff ahead of time, Elsa still has her suspicions. She's been in a similar situation before, and has no intention of repeating that mistake. All the same, it is a pleasant change to have options available. Anna has done well by her so far.

Once the immediate businesses in the royal family's return have been dealt with, Anna guides Elsa and Marshmallow through the bustling streets. It seems the kingdom is a small one, but Arendelle has a close-knit community where just about everyone knows each other, and it's no small wonder that some curious souls turn to greet their princess only to pause at the scraggly thing following at her heels. Marshmallow senses his mistress's discomfort and raises his hackles when strangers wander too near.

Still, some of the common people regard Anna with glad tones and surprising friendliness. Anna is so different from Hans in so many ways that Elsa finds some of her worries eased.

Out of the market crowds she is led to a humble cabin close enough to Arendelle's outermost gates while still maintaining some seclusion. Sitting on a bench in the front deck is a man who Elsa assumes is the Kristoff Bjorgman she's heard about. Beside the homestead is a small stable that Marshmallow suddenly rushes towards, chasing and barking at some foreign scent. A reindeer trots out to welcome the visitors even with the white elkhound yipping at his flank; he is a large specimen of his breed, if a bit dopey looking, answers to Sven, and almost behaves more like he'd been raised in a dog kennel.

Kristoff greets Anna with a smile and brotherly embrace, and when Marshmallow redirects his barking to the large Sami Elsa shushes him, snaps her fingers. Marshmallow obeys.

Despite Elsa's experiences with large men, she senses Kristoff is a good sort; burly and broad-shouldered from the toil of ice harvesting, yes, but his face and eyes are too honest to be cruel. It's in much the same way as Princess Anna is, Elsa notices. He smells faintly of sweat and reindeer musk, a strange yet not unpleasant change of pace from expensive colognes and cigar smoke and alcohol. He smells like hard work.

They are properly introduced; Kristoff is not only surprised to see Anna bring home someone from the Southern Isles but also at Elsa's condition. He knows of slavery but has never before seen a victim of it. He does not test his boundaries by offering a handshake, much to Elsa's relief.

"Elsa and I were just trying to work out someplace for her to stay," Anna explains. "I'm sorry to spring this up on you out of the blue."

Kristoff just nods his head. "You're welcome to look around," he says in a voice that's softer than Elsa is used to hearing from men.

Elsa is glad that he knows to keep his distance and Anna shows her the cabin's layout— the den, kitchen, bedroom, the loft sometimes used as a guest room, where Kristoff keeps his sled and tools. It's a fine, simple place to stay, and the musty smell is easier to breathe in than the overwhelmingly clean sea air (something that deeply saddens Elsa, though she does not show it).

They reconvene outside to discuss some things with Kristoff. Despite the suddenness, he is willing to give Elsa the loft as it grants her abundant privacy and space. She has no spare clothing beyond the blue jacket and his garments are several sizes too large to be considered hand-me-downs, so they will soon have to make a trip into town. This along with other essentials requires money, at which both Kristoff and Anna are willing to compensate. Still not used to all this, Elsa clears her throat.

"I can work," she states, but neither will allow it.

" _You_ ," Kristoff points a finger at her, "Are in no condition to work. Look at you, I can see your ribcage from here." Despite the obvious hyperbole Elsa pats down on her torso. "Just… take some time off. You know, rest. Recover your strength."

The way Elsa tilts her head at him one would think she'd been told to fly to the moon. She can barely remember the last time she'd been allowed— allowed _herself_ — to loaf about.

Anna and Kristoff speak on other matters (namely Elsa's diet and health) and Sven curiously nudges Elsa with his snout. Though she is experienced with horses she doesn't know how to handle a reindeer, and stiffly pats the tuft of fur atop his head. Elsa is addressed again, and through silent nods she agrees that Kristoff will escort her into the markets tomorrow, both to purchase new garments and to slowly acclimate her to Arendelle. It is good to be given a choice in the matter.

Seeming satisfied, Anna stands from her spot on the bench and regards Elsa. "Are you sure this is okay?" she asks. Elsa nods, but there is still worry in her eyes. "Please let me know if anything happens."

Here Anna bids them farewell and returns to Arendelle where royal duties await her. Elsa and Kristoff exchange glances and the silence grows stifling. The hour grows late and he offers her food; she takes a loaf of bread and retreats into the loft. Kristoff prepares a light meal, shares pieces of meat with Marshmallow and carrots with Sven. After dinner he sits by the fireplace and plucks a melody on his lute, humming softly.

Elsa devours half the loaf and saves the rest for tomorrow, lying down to rest on the loft's spare bed. From her vantage point she can see shadows dancing from the firelight, Kristoff's lute playing almost punctuated by the occasional crackle and pop of firewood in lieu of percussion.

She doesn't know how long she lies there, staring at the fire. The spare bed may not be as comfortable as a hammock, yet Elsa almost doesn't notice her falling into the doze prefacing another long and deep sleep.

* * *

Elsa still can't stomach anything more than bread, though she longs for the taste of fish that she's nearly forgotten, which is further exacerbated by the constant whiff of fresh fish from the market. The atmosphere in Arendelle is radically different from that of the Southern Isles— very few, if any, greet her with dark and sullen faces. If the Isles are a hive ruled by the laws of club and chain, then this is a sanctum of fellowship. It is true that not all in this port city are as good-natured as Anna or Kristoff, but even those dubious souls stand head and shoulders over the Westergaards.

Soon Elsa encounters a new shock. She and Kristoff are running errands in town for food and clothes when, after examining some jackets and long skirts, Elsa catches Kristoff having a disagreement with a merchant. Her experience has taught her that disagreements usually end in violence, and so Elsa is filled with worry when the merchant raises his voice and Kristoff begins to stand at full height, powerful muscles tense and big hands clenched.

(Elsa has been on the receiving end of many a big hand clenched in a fist.)

It's not until Kristoff sees Elsa in his peripheral that he visibly deflates; the merchant, noticing the big man's glance towards a pale and skittish Elsa, takes a deep breath. The transaction goes without incident, which Elsa can't help but be puzzled by.

"How?" she asks, unsure of why things took the direction they did and no one is nursing broken skin or shattered bones.

Kristoff replies, "It's not worth it to fight over produce. Besides, I don't know what the Isles did to you, but I bet you don't need a scare like that."

* * *

A vision comes to her one night, a memory within a dream.

Her mother— Ingrid of Orkney— trying to explain gently but firmly that it isn't safe for them to stay together. Men are hunters like the shark and orca, and like the shark and orca they will target smaller and weaker prey. While she is still small she will find shelter and safety in dark, concealed places where predators can't catch her. But it isn't safe for a pup Elsa's age to be left alone in the wild brine, either.

Elsa did not understand it then, and she does not understand it now.

 _I don't want to go,_ she remembers saying, her voice small.

Ingrid's eyes soften with regret. _I know._

* * *

The weather grows warmer with spring around the corner and Anna comes to visit the cabin. Kristoff is running errands in town while Elsa watches the place, but when Anna arrives she sees the girl sleeping in a clearing where the sun's warmth envelopes her. Anna approaches her, not wishing to disturb Elsa's rest; however she notices how Elsa twitches here and there, as though wrestling with a bad dream. Despite her better judgment Anna kneels down and reaches a hand out to brush the bangs from Elsa's face.

Anna's heart leaps into her throat when glazed blue eyes snap open and a pale hand shoots out to snatch her outstretched wrist in a steely grip. Despite her fragile appearance and still being severely underweight, Elsa is paradoxically strong at times. This is one such moment, and looking into Elsa's unwinking eyes Anna realizes she is still caught between a dream and the waking world— her breath catches when an unmistakably animal growl vibrates deep in Elsa's throat.

Anna tenses her arm muscles to attempt an escape, but Elsa is a creature of instinct. The princess is thrown onto her back with startling strength and speed and she freezes when Elsa lunges for her throat, just barely manages the opening note of a scream when elongated canines make for the jugular.

 _you done it now you mad sea devil_

Time may well have stopped. Anna's heart thunders in her ears but she doesn't dare breathe, hands locked in place with her fingers digging into Elsa's bandaged arms. The girl above her breathes heavily with teeth clamped tightly around her neck, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave marks. Anna can just barely make out the profile of Elsa's face contorted in a mask of fear or anger; just now clarity returns to Elsa's eyes and the muscles in her face pull back into stark horror. Elsa releases her throat, scrambles backwards on all fours.

Immediately Anna feels her neck and notes the indentation of Elsa's teeth on the skin. Still trying to make sense of the episode Anna turns her gaze towards Elsa, who flinches and looks like she's caught herself murdering an innocent creature.

 _like a monster_

"M'sorry— sorry I'm sorry _I'm sorry I'M SORRY!_ " Elsa's rambles build into a scream.

Anna finds her voice and tries to move closer. "Elsa, what was—?"

" _NO!_ DON'T TOUCH ME!" Elsa shrieks, fingers clawing through unkempt hair into her scalp. She starts into a coughing fit at the sudden demonstration of volume. Anna stops, at a loss when Elsa drops into a half-curling half-fetal ball in the grass, gagging, quivering like an autumn leaf caught in a storm.

She almost looks like she's trying to hide herself from the world. Wild, wet, and wailing eyes stare at Anna, pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks in a maelstrom of blue; Anna gets an idea when lifting herself to her knees and exposes her most vulnerable parts to Elsa, trying to convey without words that she means no harm. The coughing subsides, but Elsa's frame is still shaking.

Between gurgling, gasping breaths Elsa whimpers, "Sorry… so sorry… don't want to hurt you…"

Anna is a physical being and would like nothing more than to rush in and touch Elsa, to brush at her near-invisible freckles, to hold her close and whisper comforting words in her ear, to make it better. But she knows better that touch would only make things fall apart more than they already have, and Anna is afraid of doing the wrong thing and inadvertently stomping on what's left of Elsa.

It hits Anna like a stampede that Elsa may be physically free from the Southern Isles, but her mind is not. Anna is simultaneously enraged by the circumstances leading to Elsa's condition and helpless to do anything about it, and she wants to help Elsa recover, but damn it all she doesn't know _how_. All she knows is that it's her own fault Elsa experienced that episode; she will never stop blaming herself, never stop being sorry.

Elsa just curls tighter into herself, jaws clenching to the point of pressing her teeth painfully together, and tries not to think; how she is conditioned to see touch as a threat of violence and must react violently in self-defense, how it only reinforces what people see her as and how they treat her as an animal, so she behaves like an animal.

How the chains rattle and constrict not on her wrists but in her head, just a little tighter each time, and then the voices that rise up in the darkness of night kick in; first in Hans' voice, reminding her she will never be wanted or accepted, she will always be a _thing_ in the eyes of people; then it turns to Elsa's own voice monotonously repeating the words engrained in her head ( _and heart_ ) no matter how much faith Anna places in her no matter what Elsa does in this new kingdom she will always be a _thing a_ _thief a devil a monster_ —

 _Who would want a creature like you?_

"So much of me is _wrong_ now," Elsa sobs. "I am not myself, I-I never will be again!"

Anna's heart aches at the confession. She hates not being able to really do anything about it, how she can't just 'make it better'. How can she guide Elsa on a path to recovery? How can she teach her how to feel safe again? Anna doesn't know, and hates herself for it, but is nothing if not stubborn. If nothing else she can at least offer Elsa her friendship.

"That's okay," Anna tells her gently. "People change. I may not be able to help you go back to the person you were, but I can do whatever I can to help you now. This is a promised thing."

Elsa weakly looks up at Anna, at the teeth marks on her throat. Wrath-marks from an instinctive reflex.

"I hurt you."

"Things like that happen when you're mad, or stressed, or scared." A beat; Anna winces to herself. "Well alright, maybe not to this extent, but at least you know it's not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

"No— that was my mistake. I overstepped your boundaries when I know you don't like being touched. Kristoff always told me I'm too touchy-feely for my own good."

Elsa gives a long, shuddering sigh. "You are not to blame."

"Neither of us are, I suppose. But I must be doing something right already. We've never talked for this long before."

Elsa blinks and furrows her brow. Come to think of it, yes, she hasn't held a conversation longer than a few terse words in the last years, even before the day she'd hauled out to escape the orcas. All the 'conversations' held with Anna until now have been more or less one-sided, with Elsa nodding or occasionally humming in response.

Eyeing the torn bandages on Elsa's arms, Anna decides to take a chance. "Is it okay if I change your bandages before I leave?"

Elsa watches warily as Anna offers her hand.

 _it's a hand, not a shark_

But unlike Mother Gothel, Anna does not grab for her wrist and instead waits patiently for her consent. Elsa takes the risk. Step by small step, she approaches the outstretched hand but her eyes never leave Anna's. The princess maintains eye contact and offers a smile to inspire confidence. Finally Elsa nods and rests her palm atop Anna's.

 _What small hands she has_ , Elsa thinks. Almost dainty, but with subtle callouses from swordplay and gripping the reins on a horse. The sensation of willingly touching another sends a subtle shock throughout Elsa's being; mesmerized, she hesitatingly brings up her free hand and begins to trace every line on Anna's palm, brushes knuckles against one another, examines the faint shine on the nails.

Ah, and there it is again— that being-at-home sensation aroused in Elsa's breast.

Anna's eyes flit from Elsa's to the scar on her left cheek. Sensing her curiosity, Elsa stiffens just a little.

"May I?" Anna asks in a hushed whisper.

Elsa doesn't answer at first. Anna has done no wrong by her, has no reason to betray Elsa's growing trust, and despite the warning rattle of chains in Elsa's ears (or perhaps to spite them) she nods.

Anna's free hand rises slowly and approaches Elsa's scarred cheek, drawing nearer and nearer until the faintest molecular contact with a foreign hand causes her to instinctively pull away. Their eyes meet once more and Anna's smile, the soothing warmth and shine in her eyes and the sheer beauty of it, stays Elsa's feet from escape.

She can't, even if she wants to.

As Anna's pointer and middle fingers trace the scar in a feather-light caress, another vision comes to Elsa of her mother— the last contact they shared so many years ago.

 _Little Elsa nuzzles into the palm holding her face and gazes imploringly at her mother, her protector. Ingrid studies her pup's round face, memorizing every detail._

" _Will I ever see you again?" Little Elsa asks tearfully._

 _Ingrid's resolve wavers. "I don't want to lie to you," she answers, voice thick with sorrow. For what may be the last time in either of their lives, Ingrid gathers Elsa in her arms and holds the pup closer to her heart than ever before._

" _I'm scared," the pup sobs._

" _I know," Ingrid soothes, hand brushing her daughter's hair. "The wide world is too big for us. But will you promise me something,_ a chroí? _" Elsa looks up at her. "More than anything, be strong and able when the world takes a turn. I will do the same. And fate and gods willing, we will meet again when the right time comes."_

Elsa blinks back into the present, her vision of Anna lost to a blur as tears cascade down her face and sobbing hiccups leave her; Elsa's hand has gripped the small but strong hand holding her cheek with the tightness of a child leaving her mother behind.

"Elsa?" Anna whispers.

Elsa responds with a gut-wrenching howl, dropping to bury her face in Anna's lap and grips the skirt with her fingers. With a lump in her throat and a sting in her eyes at Elsa's voiceless, wounded animal wails, all Anna can do is hold her close, rub her shaking back and pat her hair, whispering gentle consolations.

"You're safe, Elsa. I've got you."

The being-at-home sensation blooms a little in Elsa's heart.

* * *

Kristoff returns to the cabin to find Marshmallow whining quietly at the sight of Anna comforting a howling Elsa. He knows to keep his distance and leaves them be.

Soon Elsa's fit subsides and is brought inside where Kristoff has started a fire. Kristoff brings out gauze and fresh bandages at Anna's request while Elsa removes Anna's— _her_ jacket; the old bandages are discarded so that the skin can be examined. Though the melted flesh has healed during the voyage to Arendelle, Anna still grows tense at seeing them, still furious that a person can be cruel enough to do such a thing. Kristoff winces at them, but keeps his questions for another time. Elsa no longer reacts so harshly to contact with the medicine; in fact, any physical pain or discomfort she would experience feels muted, distant. Pain of the body no longer has any effect on her.

But as Elsa takes in Anna's proximity, the gentle and kindly touch of her small but strong hands, something jolts in Elsa's chest.

Before I leave, she'd said— does that mean Anna will pass out of Elsa's life just as her mother had, and those on the Southern Isles? Kristoff and Sven are good enough company, but… the idea is confounding, but they are _not Anna_. The thought causes the insides of Elsa's chest to constrict and there it is again; the intangible hurt Elsa has no defense against. This time a globe of air lodges itself in Elsa's jaws and she doesn't know how to expel it noiselessly.

Once the clean bandages are applied Anna begins to retract her hands, but stops when Elsa's fingers hook around hers. Their eyes meet. Elsa does not understand why her heart aches to see Anna go, and she fears it.

"What's the matter?" Anna asks.

Elsa is quiet for a while. "I… don't know," she answers pitifully. How is it she'd remained defiant and steadfast in the face of torture, but is rendered weak and uncertain before the Princess?

But Anna smiles and gives Elsa's hand a gentle squeeze.

"I'll be back again," she promises. "Maybe not tomorrow or the day after, but I'll come back."

* * *

No sleep comes to Elsa that evening as she quarrels with conflicting lessons hammered into her throughout the years. A single question stands out:

 _How many wasted lives?_

Not just among those poor souls in the Southern Isles, but among selkies? How many young pups leave the sanctuary of their mother's arms, either forcibly or with solemn obedience, and must face the uncertainty of their fate? How many were far too young to die, or live solitary existences in perpetual fear of an unknown threat; how many have been like Elsa and hauled-out to land, whether in the home of a rare gentle soul, or into slavery? How many of them wasted their lives away, leaving imprints of hours ( _days months years_ ) spent longing in the sand, their dreams of freedom turned to dust?

How much of the last five years has Elsa spent— _wasted_ — consumed by the need for home?

Such thoughts eat away at her for the next two days. Elsa is snapped out of her catnap by a shrill bark from Marshmallow heralding Anna's approach to the cabin. Her heart skips a beat and she nearly pinches herself wondering if it's just a dream, even when the Princess kneels down to pet Marshmallow.

Now Elsa realizes she must have looked a fool when they'd last talked, dreading Anna's departure as though she'd be leaving for another continent. Anna greets her brightly, apologizing for the wait, but Elsa no longer cares about the time between their last meeting. Anna has made good on her promise and here she is again. By evening she will bid farewell and return home again but they will meet together in time, and so on.

Elsa's world has taken a significant turn all thanks to Anna's intervention. She thinks back to those innumerable wasted lives, and she finds it within her a drive to do more than simply exist in this new environment; Elsa, for the first time in her life, wants to truly _live_. She desires to restore the strength to her body, to find comfort and enjoyment in small moments, to learn how to cherish good company as Anna and Kristoff do, no longer bound by the shackles of Men, nor of the Sea if she can help it.

( _Though she will always hear it whisper, songs calling through soft whispers in her dreams._ )

It will take a long time to break the mental chains Hans had manipulated into her, but if Elsa's fate is to spend the rest of her days in Arendelle in safety and among good people until her heart expires from longing for her true home in the sea, then this isn't so terrible. Elsa barely notices the beginning of a smile forming on her lips— a real, genuine smile— when Anna lightly touches her arm, where scars are hidden under the sleeves of her blue jacket.

"How are you feeling today?" Anna asks.

Ice blue locks onto bright teal and Elsa responds with a newfound resolution, "Better."

Elsa has many scars, all of them with a tale to tell, and Elsa will tell them if Anna should ask.

* * *

 _'S im' chuisle_ ( _In my pulse)  
_ _I gcuideachta órga 's draíochta_ ( _In magical, golden company)  
_ _Im' lorg i leabaidh_ ( _In my footstep, in beds)  
_ _I leabhar mór gach míosa_ ( _In the great book of every months)  
_ _Ní thagaim níor tháinig mé riamh_ ( _I don't arrive or ever come upon)  
_ _Ar an ní a bhí uaim_ ( _What's essential for my needs_ )


End file.
